White Out
by il-mio-capitano
Summary: A short ficlet to the prompt of Snow. Mainly Giles tangling with the supernatural.


**White Out**

**A short ficlet for the prompt of snow**

It was a biting cold evening and Giles pulled the muffler at his throat a little tighter as he walked towards his cottage. The country lane crunched under his feet, scattering ice and frost, as he kept a brisk pace, brooding on the dropping temperatures that were keeping his neighbours by their firesides, yet mildly suspicious he couldn't hear any children in the park who usually proved more hardy at the prospect of snowball fights and mischief. He stopped at the gate in the low wall that led to the play area and looked in. The climbing frames and slides were empty but someone had gathered up all the snow from the ground and ingeniously constructed a three foot high snowman with a couple of dark eyes and had even found it an old top hat.

Giles turned to resume his walk when he heard the sound of a young voice unmistakably cry 'help'. He stopped and listened intently; the wind was picking up and producing low howls, but there were no top notes. He felt cold and numb and his own fireside beckoned, but he couldn't ignore such a plea.

"Hello?" Giles fumbled the latch on the gate with his gloved hands and entered the park. "Hello?" he shouted again. "Who's there?" He walked past the snowman and to the climbing frames, peering to see if a child lay injured or merely hiding but there was no-one and yet, despite the evidence of his eyes, he had a strong sense of not being alone. A light snow began to flurry from the sky, spiral in aim, and stick to his woollen overcoat. Giles took a couple of steps backwards and foolishly walked into the snowman. "Sorry," he said automatically and turned to look at the creation and check for damage. It was bigger than he'd realised, nearly as tall as himself and with two eaten out apple cores for eyes that were now pointed straight at him. The wind must have caught the brim of the top hat for it moved and Giles started in surprise. He felt the falling snow start to whip itself to a frenzy around the two of them, layering itself on to his companion, giving it more body, more height and the impression of a chest swelling with breath. And he knew he was in a world of trouble.

"Oh shit."

Giles moved swiftly and punched the head which lolled and fell, smashing on the ground behind. Three, four kicks to the body saw it split open at which point the wind pushed him away and he staggered backwards, snow filling his eyes. Wiping his sleeve across his face, Giles gained just enough visibility to see the battered hat was once more in place, and the snow he had kicked was already reforming itself.

"Run now, Giles," he instructed himself and took off back towards the gate and his lane home. The latch proved even harder to shift open with fumbling fingers and even swearing at it didn't help. He wondered briefly if he was overreacting, if, after all, the thing didn't have legs and could hardly pursue him, but a quick glance over his shoulder, showed the head twist, malevolent apple core eyes fix on him and the white body start to roll in his direction. Giles vaulted the gate in desperation but landed poorly, his footing slipped and his ankle twisted. There wasn't time to wait for the judge's style marks though, he picked himself up and ran, hobbled, stumbled as best he could. He made maybe ten yards before something like a cannonball punched him across his back and he fell face down to the earth. The snow was on him now. It was in his hair, his ears, his eyes, his nose. He tried to wipe it clear, to defend himself, but more came to smother him, hardening to ice and he was gripped by a fear like he'd never known. Giles tried to yell but was immediately choked with snow down his throat and mouth. He turned and twisted, tasting blood and death, fighting for breath, fighting to lash out at his spindrift assailant but it was useless and he felt the darkness come.

Then suddenly, there was heat and light, and what had been brutally compact snow was moisture and air. He smelt burning and opened his eyes to see it was his own coat and muffler that had caught alight. He rolled instinctively into the pool of water that surrounded him and felt his face sting in protest but the burning smell stopped and he looked up to see his rescuer.

It was Xander! Bloody magnificent, Xander! Triggering a flame thrower and looking for all the world like he was enjoying himself. "Take that, Frosty!"

Giles groaned but watched the bursts of light and power that crackled against the skyline with admiration until all that remained of the snowman was the damp puddle he found himself sat in. Xander engaged the safety catch and grinned.

"You OK down there, Giles?"

"A little singed," he replied tartly. "But I'll probably feel better when my eyebrows grow back." He rose with as much dignity as he could muster but tottered as he put weight on his injured ankle. Xander quickly shouldered his weapon and grabbed his arm, supporting him, smirking at him.

"You shouldn't play with the rough kids," he chided. "It always ends in tears."

"Yeah," Giles agreed. "But at least I've still got my lunch money. Come on, let's go home. And then you can tell me where the hell you got that flame thrower from."

_the end_


End file.
